


Undoubtedly Ours, Undoubtedly Yours

by Mysenia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, M/M, Multi, Phoenix Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Triad bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/pseuds/Mysenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never let it be said that Peter will not have the last word. After living for 30 years after having Chris ripped away from him, Peter will stop at nothing to get Chris back, and with Stiles at his side Peter is guaranteed victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undoubtedly Ours, Undoubtedly Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0justlisten0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0justlisten0/gifts).



> Wrote this for my darkling [ satans-vee](http://satans-vee.tumblr.com/) because she loves my Stetopher drabbles. Also this is for Peter Hale Appreciation week.

When Peter turns 5 he is told that he will marry a hunter to unify two families, two separate factions, and bring peace. His intended is named Chris and Peter instantly dislikes him, for Chris is not just any Chris but Christopher Argent, the son of the hunter family who has tried to wipe them out multiple times. 

The hunter family who had been killing werewolves for generations, their “code” laughable at best, a selling point to those new recruits unsure of whether taking a life was really deemed necessary. The hunter family who had killed members of their pack. The hunter family who lived to bathe the world in werewolf blood.

So Peter made it his mission to hate the boy who was only a few years older than himself. The boy with the pretty green eyes and who smelled like home. The boy who kissed his owies even though they disappeared before his very eyes. The boy who held Peter and told him everything would be alright when their parents would fight. The boy who turned out to be the mate no one ever saw coming, the one Peter could not hate if his life depended on it.

It turns out it wasn’t his life that depended on it, but those of his pack. For the alliance was a lie, the marriage a ruse to lure the werewolves out in the open. A 9 year old boy used as bait to capture one of the most powerful packs around, and it worked like a charm. The mate bond, a surprise to everyone, being the swaying power that cinched the deal but left the wolves wide open. 

For the Argents never wanted peace or unity, they wanted a way in so they could finish the job once and for all. They would go through whatever means possible to secure the death of the Hales and once talks of arranged marriages came up, they latched onto that and planned accordingly.

Though children could not marry a bonding ceremony could take place that would allow the union to start right away, ensuring a true anchor for the wolf and secure knowledge for the humans that no harm could come to Chris. The adults quickly set the terms of the alliance and planned the bonding ceremony, one year of planning going into it.

During that time Chris and Peter became very close. Though Chris could not feel the mate bond as Peter could, he felt a love for Peter so vast that the only reason he could even somewhat comprehend it was because Peter anchored him just as much as he anchored Peter. The adults left them be, though Chris’ parents interrogated him after every interaction he had with Peter. Chris thought it was because they wanted him to be happy, wanted to make sure Peter was treating him properly. 

It wasn’t until the Hale house was burning down, the screams and cries of the pack ringing in his ears, that Chris truly understood what the proposed alliance was actually about. When he felt the pain of Peter burning alive. When he was the one screaming in pain until he shattered his voice box and nearly died choking on his own blood. It was not until that moment that he truly understood the depravity of his parents and all hunters. It was not until that moment that he learned how truly expendable he was in their quest to annihilate all werewolves. 

In the ensuing years, through torture and immersion therapy, they made Chris forget. They fixed him up, though his voice always remained gruff, and hardened him. Turned him into a killing machine, perfect in almost every way. Though they made Chris forget many things, he never did forget how expendable he was to them.

* * *

~30 years later~

When Chris was sent into the forest to take down the two feral werewolves that were spotted, he was not expecting soft, gentle, albeit dirty, werewolves. He had been trained to expect vicious killers - and had in fact seen feral werewolves - who stopped at nothing to take down anything that moved, especially something or someone who set off a visible threat to them. 

He prepped himself, training extra hard, and restocked everything. He sharpened his blades and oiled his leathers. He was taking no risks, making sure his team were as equally prepared.

They set the date and memorized their plan, there would be no mistakes. At least, that is what Chris told himself. He had to have the mindset that everything would go according to plan, and that what they were doing was for the good of the ignorant populace.

It did not matter that his stomach turned at the thought of killing again, or that these two had not had any confirmed murders on their hands, or claws - whatever. They had to be taken down, and that was that. His leader told him where to go, what to kill, and he did not question it. At least not out loud.

He never dared mention how he thought werewolves were not inherently bad. He never dared mention that he wished they could try to rehabilitate the one’s gone feral. He never dared mention that a part of him crumbled each time he shot the killing blow. For it was always a killing shot - better to put them out of their misery right away. He never dragged it out, never took pleasure in the pained whines. He was not his sister - and yet no one ever questioned him, or his loyalty.

He learned to mask his feelings right from his first kill, where his stomach bunched into knots and the threat of vomit caused sweat to soak his body. When his eyes stung from unshed tears and his limbs trembled in shock, the swift gun to his head cured him of ever questioning his orders. At least out loud.

This time, just like every other time, Chris braced himself to welcome that much more darkness into his heart. He asked for forgiveness for the lives he was about to take. He shed his tears in the sanctuary of his bedroom, darkness hiding his shame. He nicked his thumb, the shedding of his own blood his penance for his task ahead. He let himself mourn, for himself and the werewolves, until the light of dawn touched his window. The light was the armour he clothed around his heart, his face set in stone the moment he stepped out of his bedroom door.

He greeted his men, charged them with empty words, and looked to his matriarch for final instructions. She wished them good hunting, a promise of pain in her eyes for those who failed her, and sent them off.

Chris was in charge, the best of the best - a fact for which he was revolted - and he led his men to the forest. Their vehicles they left miles away, they did not want the wolves pre-warned. On foot they marched, silent assassins seeking blood. Their packs were filled with rations for they expected to take a day or two to track the werewolves to their lair - for they were rumoured to be travelling together.

That information niggled at Chris, for ferals never travelled together. They were more likely to kill, and then consume the fallen werewolf, than they were to travel together. As always though, Chris did not need to know those details. He was a soldier, damn good, but expendable. Even his own mother, their Leader, would not lose sleep over replacing him. New recruits joined daily and there was always one young upstart that showed promise. Chris would not fall to one of them, his need to give humane killings driving him ever onward.

A twig snapped to his left and Chris had his gun aimed before his head had had a chance to spot the culprit. Joseph, their youngest hunter on the team, had panicked rounded eyes as he found himself the center of 11 cocked guns. Chris silently cursed, that would have to be reported and the kid would be punished. Chris motioned his hand downward, all the weapons lowered but the tension was palpable.

Chris took a moment to breath, forcing his team to take a moment as well. When Chris felt like no one was likely to shoot at the next noise, he motioned everyone forward again. In a few hours the team would split into two groups of 6 and head in separate directions. The forest was large and if they hoped to get this job done in any amount of a decent time then splitting up was the go ahead plan.

Hours passed with no sign of the ferals and Chris called a halt. It was short work to separate the pre-determined groups, and they sat down for a bite to eat. Even relaxed while eating the hunters were ever alert with one hand constantly touching a weapon. Food finished, the two groups were up and off, radios handy but to be used as a last resort.

Darkness descended before they made camp for the night. The moon was covered, only a sliver full - a strategically timed hunting - and they set up camp by the meager natural light there was. Patrols were set and Chris hunkered down to some some much needed sleep. He had the two am to six am shift - one of the hardest - and he knew he’d need as much sleep as he could get.

Being shaken awake was never his favourite thing so Chris made sure to be awake before his shift was to start. He got up and stretched, easing cramped muscles, before grabbing an energy bar and some water. He nodded at the current patrols and watched as one of them woke up his partner for the patrols. Chris stifled his groan when he remembered that he had purposefully paired himself with Joseph. Chris was thankful that there would be no communication between them, and gathered his gear. He nodded when he saw Joseph was ready and they set off.

It was around four am when Chris noticed that he was being watched. He and Joseph had taken to patrolling opposite sides of the camp, so he knew it was not the kid watching him. It unnerved Chris that the werewolves were just watching him - for he knew nothing else inhabited the forest that would render it so quiet. Chris dropped all subtlety and stopped, turning slowly and surveying his surroundings.

As he was making the last degrees of his full circle, Chris found himself confronted with two werewolves. They were unnaturally still, their eyes beacons in the darkness. Red and blue eyes pierced him, and Chris cursed his superiors for failing to mention that one of the wolves was an Alpha.

It was unheard of for a mated pair to be feral, just as it was equally unheard of for two ferals to be travelling together. They stood together, tension radiating from them, but Chris felt it was more towards each other than it was towards him. 

Every time Chris faced feral werewolves he felt fear. He let them feel it, they expected it, and it was never for show. The werewolves were the only one’s who could tell anyway, for anyone looking at him would only see a calm facade - and that’s how it should be. 

What truly scared Chris about these two was that they were clearly not feral. They were quite dirty, as if they’d been living solely in the forest for years, but their was no manic glint to their eyes. In fact, Chris would say half the men in his group were more feral than these two. As he assessed them, they assessed him. There was calculation clear in those eyes, stable minds keeping their bodies loose and relaxed, yet balanced in a way that screamed preparedness - should the need to react arise, they were prepared. 

Chris spared an ear to the progress of Joseph but he could not detect a hint of him. Either his partner had found them and gone to get backup - doubtful - or he had yet to see that Chris was in confrontation with the werewolves - the more likely scenario. Neither of the werewolves had made a move toward Chris, neither had they done any outward communications with each other. 

Chris could feel his blood surging and slowing, preparing him for the eventuality of being found. Adrenaline was a weird thing and Chris felt his brain calm down, eyes sharpening and able to take in more detail. Chris raised his gun, wanting to shoo the two away. They were not a threat, at least not so long as Chris and his hunters did not attack them first. He just wanted to scare them away. Needed them gone before Joseph came stumbling along. He would take the punishment for failing to kill these two but it was a price he was willing to pay to not shed any innocent blood. For now that he could see they were not feral he would purposefully lead his men a different way to avoid further confrontations. His Leader would be mad, furious even, but he had taken her punishments before and he would do so again.

Chris motioned with his gun for the two to move along, flipping the safety back into place to show them he meant no harm. That single action caused a reaction, the Alpha smiled. The Alpha crooked a finger at Chris, urging him to follow as the two werewolves turned around and started walking away. Stumped, Chris stayed where he was. Though he did not want to take an innocent life, or lives in this case, he had been trained to view werewolves with disgust and fear - being asked to follow a pair of werewolves through the woods at night was not a situation he had ever thought he’d find himself in. 

The Alpha stopped with his back to Chris but the Beta turned around and looked at Chris, a questioning lilt to his eyebrows. Chris shook his head, motioned for them to continue on, and was honestly surprised by what happened next. 

The Alpha turned around and Chris was captured in the burning red gaze. He felt sucked into a vortex and those eyes were his salvation. He felt tears slipping down his face, dropping off his face to become lost among the moisture in the ground. In that gaze he felt absolution for his crimes, forgiveness and love - unfettered and so full of adoration, things he’d been denied his entire life, that Chris felt his brain shutting down, unable to compute the vast ocean of pure want suddenly opened up to him. Darkness greeted him but the embrace that caught him as he fell were two very real arms, warm and strong and there for him.

* * *

Chris felt safe and warm as consciousness greeted him. There was a niggling feeling in the back of his head but Chris ignored it in favor of opening his eyes to survey his new surroundings. He found himself in a bedroom, generic in that way that all guest bedrooms were with a bed, dresser, bedside table and no personal effects. Chris sat up, feeling better rested than in years and he swung his feet over the side of the bed, unable to help the amused and confused snort that left him when his feet landed on a pair of slippers.

Pushing the slippers aside Chris pushed himself up, perusing the room one final time for any traps or tricks. Chris had an inkling of a feeling as to where he could be located but without further inspection he was in the dark so he headed for the door. 

Chris knew that his reactions were not those he’d trained so long and hard at that they’d become instinctual, habit. He knew that he was acting very out of character, and in some distant part of his brain he could feel panic building, but he felt so far removed from it. He wasn’t floating, was very much in the present moment, but his receptors were dimmed - only letting through the barest hint of any negative emotion. 

The hallway proved to be just as uninformative as the bedroom and Chris could see a set of stairs located down the hall on the left. His feet led him towards the stairs, a conscious brain to the autopilot happening to his body. Chris thumped down the stairs, his mind starting to fight the bubble it seemed to be captured in. It didn’t feel like he was walking into a trap but the unknown was proving to be a bit much for whatever spell had taken over Chris, his natural paranoia tap tap tap’ing at his conscious until the bubble shattered and he once again felt like himself. Chris stopped himself at the bottom of the stairs, giving his body an internal shake to settle himself.

“Christopher, we’re in here.” A voice called from his right and Chris jerked his head in that direction. He had not even had time to properly orient himself and prepare a plan. 

It did not seem like a plan was needed though as there was a door in front of him, windows along one side showing the outside, and Chris took his chance. One step took him to the door and with a firm grip he yanked open the door. It was as Chris went to take his second step that he found himself stuck, his entire body frozen in tableau. 

“Now now Christopher, we cannot let you go until you’ve at least heard us out. After all, it took us a great deal to get you here.” The voice said from behind him. Chris felt arms wrap around his body, a face pressed close as a nose glided up his neck, inhaling until it nuzzled in just behind his right ear. 

“Stop that.” A second voice said, sounding like it was right beside the first. “Just bring him to the living room, and keep your hands to yourself.” The voice continued as it faded away, Chris presumed because the owner of the voice was walking away.

He felt himself lifted, his body being allowed to relax suddenly and his limbs felt heavy. It was a short trip to the living room, and Chris soon found himself deposited on a couch. Across from him sat a young man, far younger than Chris had first thought when he’d seen the two in the forest. The two werewolves now looked like any average person, in clean clothes and no extra fangs or glowing eyes. It only eased Chris’ stress slightly.

The younger of the two, and Chris could only assume he was the Beta, had short brown hair. He appeared to be liberally dotted with moles and his eyes were a stunning honey colour. The young man was exuding ease and comfort, Chris had to check himself twice when he felt himself mirroring him.

The older one seemed closer to Chris’ age, with a greying goatee and crystal clear blue eyes that Chris felt he’d seen before. Everything about this one seemed familiar but Chris was sure he’d never met this werewolf before. That tingling in his brain urged him to cross to the older werewolf but he pushed the feeling back. It was foreign and clearly something the two had planted on him.

“Christopher.” One word, three syllables, and so full of yearning that Chris felt himself physically lean away from it. 

“You don’t know me.” Was all he could think to say in response. The older werewolf frowned and glanced at the younger one sitting beside him. 

“You’re right Chris, we don’t know you but we’d like to.” The younger werewolf spoke, drawing Chris’ attention. “My name is Stiles, and that’s Peter. You don’t know me but we’ve been looking for you for a long time.” 

“Are you implying that I know Peter?” Chris asked, watching as Peter turned away from him, something undefinable crossing his features.

“Once, long ago you did. Those memories are gone from you now, or buried so deep that looking for them will cause a backlash so bad it will kill you.” Stiles stated matter-of-factly. 

“And you expect me to believe that?” Chris asks, skepticism colouring his voice. The longer he sat there the more he felt like himself. Stiles frowned.

“Christopher, if you promise to sit there and listen to us then Stiles will drop the spell.” Peter’s looking at him again.

“If I’m listening to you, then you will be answering my questions.” Chris is not stupid enough to believe they mean him no harm. He’s already parsed out five things in the room that he can use as a weapon. 

“Of course.” Peter smiles at him, a surprising hint of warmth blooming in Chris’ chest at the genuineness of the smile. He hates the conflicting emotions he’s feeling but he knows they are his own because Stiles’ entire countenance has relaxed, like his muscles have finally unclenched after being tight for some time, and Chris finally feels himself again.

“Before you ask any questions just let Peter tell you his story. After that you can ask all the questions you want.” Chris met Stiles’ eyes and held them, wanting to know what they had to say but also wishing to remain ignorant. They let him decide, and in the end that patience decided him and he nodded his head before turning to look at Peter.

“You won’t remember that once, long ago, we were promised to each other. You were 9 and I was 5, and though we were too young to be wed our parents spent an entire year planning a bonding ceremony for us. That year was spent in peace, your hunters and my pack working together for once to deal with feral wolves and other supernatural problems. An entire year where you and I spent nearly every day together. An entire year where I had one of my mates. Until the day of the bonding ceremony, when all of my pack had gathered to celebrate and the hunters burned us alive, locking us away in our house with wolfsbane.”

Chris tried to shake his head in denial but found he couldn’t move his limbs, numbness spreading throughout his entire body. Peter continued on.

“Every single member of my pack burned around me and you did too. Your parents won’t have realised it until after, but you were connected to me through our mate bond. Though the ceremony had not been complete it mattered not, that entire year spent together cemented the bond in a way no one could predict. I don’t even think my parents knew what was happening, and if mine did not then yours most certainly had no idea. So when I burned you burned with me, I know because I felt it. Even as your parents drove you away I could still hear you screaming, feel your pain. A neverending loop of pain, feeding from me to you and back again. The house burned up before the last of my pack died, but the hunters just left us to succumb to our wounds.” Peter held out his hand, slowly rotating it.

“I sometimes can still see the flames licking across my skin, feel the cold spike before the heat sears my skin. Sometimes, if I listen closely, I can still hear the bubbling of my blood under my skin as it bulged and popped, oozing like lava out of my body.” Stiles put an arm around Peter’s shoulders, stopping the horrible recounting. Chris felt like he was going to lose the contents of his stomach. Peter did not apologise.

“What the hunters failed to see was that I wasn’t dying. Oh, I wished I could have died, wanted to with every fiber of my being. However, because you were still alive and breathing, fine for all intents and purposes, the bond we had saved me. Every breath that kept you in the land of the living kept me here as well. Every beat of your heart forced a beat in mine. The hunters failed to see what was right in front of them. Do you know how rare it is for a mated pair to survive what should have been death?” Peter asked. Chris figured it was a rhetorical question and remained silent.

“It is so rare, in fact, that in all the tales passed down through werewolf history there has only been one tale of something similar. I doubt hunters have even ever heard of it. What kept us alive is that we are part of a triad bond. A bond formed between three, yes, but the circumstances around it happening are astronomically low. For a triad bond to form it has to occur between a werewolf, a hunter, and a phoenix, or as you might know them, a spark.” Peter held up his hand to stall any of the multitude of questions just waiting to spill out of Chris.

“For years I was near insanity, more feral and dangerous than even the most unhinged of supernatural creatures. I had one mate ripped away from me, and I did not know to seek another. It was not until 11 years after the fire that I ran into Stiles when he had wandered out to the woods by himself. Stiles was 11 and we believe he was drawn to my pain, his powers seeking out their anchor and pulling him to me. For the past 19 years we have been together, keeping each other sane and anchored while we looked for you. I knew your parents would destroy you, warping your mind, but they did an even better job than I expected them to.” Peter stopped, reading Chris’s body language.

Chris stood up, needing to move around. He noticed that Stiles and Peter held themselves very still, not wanting to spook him after their ridiculous story. It was not ridiculous though, or far fetched, Chris knew. He’d always felt sympathy towards werewolves. He always knew his Leader, his own mother, would go to whatever extreme means necessary to accomplish her goals. Sacrificing a child to the cause would not cause her to blink, and erasing those memories was something he’d witnessed her do on several occasions. Her techniques left him with nightmares.

He stopped and observed Peter and Stiles, unconsciously swaying towards each other in their need for comfort. Comfort because they expected him to reject them, he realised.

“What did you do to me in the forest?” Chris directed this question at Peter.

“I fully opened our bond to you.” Peter told him frankly. It made Chris take a step back, the memories of love and acceptance to much for him. 

“And why were your eyes blue?” Chris asked Stiles.

“I’m a phoenix, capable of many magical feats. However, one of my most prominent features is that my magic is blue, like the flame you see in a fire so hot it can singe you from feet away. So when I’m using my magic my eyes turn blue. You thought I was a beta werewolf, didn’t you?” Stiles asked to which Chris nodded. 

Peter lifted his arm, almost as if he wanted to reach for Chris, before dropping his arm and saying, “Christopher, I think you need to hear the rest of our story before you ask any more questions.”

Chris found his way back to the couch on shaky legs, exhaling when he took his seat again.

“You were never meant to come out of that forest. We’ve been watching you, waiting for the perfect moment to get your attention but this is not how we imagined it going. You see, your parents planned to kill you.” Stiles had pain in his eyes as he said this, but Chris shook his head in denial. He knew he was expendable but his Leader would never order him killed - he was too good.

“You’ve been drawing back each time you’ve been ordered to kill a werewolf. You haven’t outright refused an order but your steadfast loyalty isn’t as on point as it once used to be. Your men have been reporting your actions for months, maybe even years now. Your parents knew that the bond changed you and we believe they’ve kept an eye on you the entire time. There were two feral werewolves in the forest but they did not happen to be there accidentally. Your parents placed them there and we watched them do it. Two Alpha werewolves, ones you were not tasked with capturing, caged up underground without the moon for 6 months as far as we can tell. The plan was to get you out here, have the werewolves kill you, and then your team would kill the wolves.” Stiles told him plainly, not sparing any detail.

Chris felt hollow inside and yet he could feel the fluttering in a tiny corner of his mind. He shied away from it, wanting to distance himself from everything right now. He wanted answers. He wanted pain. He wanted revenge. He wanted nothing.

“Where are the two ferals then?” Chris asked, seeking to have one questioned answered at a time.

“We took care of them.” Peter’s statement brooked no argument. Chris breathed a sigh of relief that none of his men would be killed from them. He hated himself for that relief.

“And what now? Am I just supposed to go with you two wherever? Am I supposed to pretend that my family doesn’t want me dead? Am I just supposed to run for the rest of my life, with one eye constantly trained over my shoulder?” Chris demanded to know. He could feel his fury growing.

“We’ve been in contact with some of the other prominent Hunter families and Werewolf packs. Unfortunately for your family, they’ve finally crossed the line. Those two Alphas they imprisoned? They were from two peaceful packs. The other Hunter families have realised that if they don’t align themselves with the packs there will be an all out war, the one that’s been building since the Hale pack was destroyed. The Argents are damaged, a blight, a plague that’s slowly edging everyone towards the precipice. And no one wants to see what happens when everyone is pushed off. So what happens now is you can either decide to join us, join your family, or sit on the sidelines being neutral.” Peter looked like he wanted to say more but Chris was grateful he had stopped. He was already so overwhelmed.

He knew his family was bad, knew they’d been killing more and more innocent werewolves. He was just one man though and he couldn’t take down an organisation run by his own family. 

“Are you going to kill them?” 

“Not if we can help it. Though many are calling for blood to be shed it’s been agreed that we just want them put away. We have a facility guarded by shamans where they would be completely unable to do anything.” Stiles told him. More relief washed over Chris. 

“Do my family think I’m dead?” Chris received nods in response. “I can’t be a part of this then. If they think I’m dead, fine. However it’s too ingrained in me to not fight their capture, I would just get in the way.” Chris stumbled over his words, hating the weakness it displayed. “I think I’m just going to go back to the room I woke up in.” Chris stood on shaking ways and made his way back to the room.

* * *

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Stiles asked Peter as they watched Chris make his way up the stairs. The man looked exhausted, aged more in the last two hours than in the last 10 years it seemed.

“Not any time soon, no. It will take a lot of inner reflection, and therapy for Christopher to be okay with what’s happened. With what’s going to happen. But we’ll be there every step of the way.” Peter assured Stiles, pulling his younger mate onto his lap. It was hard being so close to Chris and not being able to touch. 

Though years had passed Peter had not forgotten what it felt like to be hugged by the man, the arms now much bigger and stronger but Peter knew still full of love. Chris was a gorgeous man and Peter felt his heart swell just thinking of him. He felt Stiles’ answering echo of that sentiment flood through their bond and he smiled, pulling Stiles in closer and contenting himself with the fact that he had at least been lucky enough to have Stiles most of his life. 

When Peter had first met Stiles it had been like a balm over all his wounds, instantly soothing. At 11 years old Stiles had been too young to understand the bond they had, his family having found him in the mountains and thus not knowing his heritage. However the longer Peter spent in Stiles’ company, the more his sanity returned. The more he remembered, and thus was able to teach Stiles. 

Peter told Stiles about Chris, about the third to their bond who was out there waiting for them. It had taken 19 years but they had finally found Chris and Peter was not letting him be taken away a second time. 

Peter was only now starting to grasp what it felt like to be whole. His senses were the sharpest they’d been in years, his blood fair booming with power. He knew, without a doubt, that there was no other Alpha out there as strong as him. Not only did he have two mates, but they were both extremely powerful in their own rights, and that boosted his own power. 

Where once Peter had been a power hungry werewolf, searching to form a pack to fill the emptiness inside himself, he was now just content to have the two he had. Though Chris had not said anything about joining their bond Peter knew it was only a matter of time. The bond was hard to resist, but for Chris - who had already experienced it before - Peter knew it would pull him in eventually. Not a persuasion, more a coming home. Stiles and Peter were the family Chris was meant to have, where he would be loved and cherished.

When wind of what the Argent’s were planning had reached Peter and Stiles, it had taken all of Stiles’ power to restrain Peter. Peter had wanted to march straight up to the bitch and rip her head clean off but Stiles had made him see reason. 

Stiles, his saving grace every single day. For without Stiles, Peter surely would have been put down years ago and the resounding backlash would have killed Chris and through Chris, Stiles. For though Stiles and Chris had never met, triad bonds were born in those they merged. The slot for Stiles had always been in Chris and Peter, just waiting for him to be born to fill it. 

Peter had some ideas about why Stiles had been abandoned in the mountains, the fire having happened when Stiles would have been around 4 or 5 months old - he thinks the looping pain hit Stiles as a babe and his latent magic caused something to happen. However those are all guesses, any lead they’ve trailed always ending in a dead end. Peter pondered asking Chris to join them on the quest of finding Stiles’ past after this mess was dealt with.

For soon it would be, the families and packs even now gathering and finalizing their plans. This had been years in the making but the final straw had been the Argents capturing those two Alphas - whom were now thankfully on their ways back to their packs where they’d be safely reintegrated.

Peter tightened his arms around Stiles and laid nips and kisses up his neck. Stiles turned his head and kissed Peter thoroughly, the stress of the day leeching out as they found comfort in each other, and Chris upstairs. 

Eventually Stiles got up, going to fix some food and Peter returned to the study, finalizing his own plans.

* * *

It was two weeks later that Peter and Stiles found themselves facing off against the Argents, Chris safely back in their home - their actual home not the temporary one they had first taken Chris too. They were still all getting used to each other but the bond worked in truly astonishing ways. It didn’t magically make them all love each other but their were born with their compatibility and the bond just helped bring that to the forefront. 

Touches lasted longer and looks lingered. Peter could not wait for the day that Chris was comfortable enough with them, and they with him, that they could fall into bed together. Not just for the sex, though Peter was looking forward to that, but just being able to all sleep together. Falling asleep next to both his mates was a dream Peter had had since the moment he met Stiles. 

Now, facing the matriarch of the Argents, Peter felt his dream ever nearer. Soon they would have them all locked away and Chris would never again be stuck double checking that no-one was after him. 

Together with 100 members of varying hunter families and just as many werewolves, Peter and Stiles circled the Argent land. Acres upon acres full of traps just waiting to fell them. Though the Argents were unaware that their last moments of freedom were upon them, they had always been a cautious lot and their land reflected that. The hunters, along with Stiles, were set to head in first to dismantle all the traps set to take out a werewolf. Though the Argents had human enemies, they were not so bold as to try to take them on on the Argent’s own soil and hence, though the traps could most definitely kill a human, they were set with wolfsbane to ensure they took out wolves. 

Though none of the hunter families knew what Stiles was, they knew he was not a wolf, and thus trusted him just a little more than they did the wolves. They looked to Stiles to lead them true, even the heads of the hunter families, because Stiles carried with him an air of knowledge and confidence. It made Peter proud. He pulled Stiles in for a brief kiss, scenting him before they parted.

It was hard to watch as Stiles walked into the forest, stepping over the threshold into Argent territory, but Peter trusted him implicitly and knew he’d see Stiles again soon. Peter, along with all the werewolves, lined the perimeter just waiting for the go ahead to start their own journey in. They stand there, shaking out limbs and stretching, preparing themselves for nearly an hour before the soft trill of their signal is heard. It’s Stiles, with magic enhanced voice, that comes through with the trill, sounding for all intents and purposes like a regular bird call. 

When the werewolves hear it they all go still, bracing themselves with one last breath, before starting into the forest. They don’t crash about or run full tilt, they take their time surveying the land - memorizing potential escape routes. It takes them less than half the time it took the hunters to get through and they are at the humans side on the edge of the forest, surveying the large plot of open ground between them and the main house.

Multiple buildings are dotted here and there along the property, barns filled with animals and weapons, houses for the family members, a training course and gym. Everything the hunters could need to live self-sustainably. It’s their treasure trove and they are about to lose it all. Peter takes it all in gleefully. 

It’s pre-dawn and though the Argent’s have patrols out, their watch towers manned to the teeth, it’s their most vulnerable time. The night-time patrols given out as punishments and training measures - the biggest flaw in the hunter’s system as wolves own the night and attacks during the darkened hours are the werewolves strength. 

It had not been easy getting that information from the hunter families, for though the werewolves knew a lot about the families none had been stupid enough to attack one of the head families on their own territory. To do so would have been asking for a sure death. 

However, Stiles had been the one to point out that this mission was one set out to bring peace between Hunters and Werewolves - that imprisoning the Argents was going to go a long way towards easing tensions, for the Argents had taken out hunters in their mission to destroy all werewolves, whoever stood in their way was taken out. The information given out would not be used against them, for all those gathered were of a set mind Stiles assured them. Stiles smoothed the way in lots of arguments, there were talks of making him the Chief negotiator when this was done. 

Peter stood behind Stiles with his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. This next part was critical and only Stiles was capable of handling it. Stiles closed his eyes and squared his shoulders. Nothing outwardly happened but Peter could feel Stiles siphoning power from him and Chris - Stiles had asked Chris beforehand if he could use some of his power which Stiles could feel through the bond and Chris had agreed - and Peter felt Stiles grow with it. His presence became bigger, louder to those more sensitive to magic. Stiles loosed a breath and the magic flowed out of him like a wind. Peter could not see it but he could feel it, as could all the werewolves. 

What Stiles was doing was cloaking the ground, mirroring what was supposed to be there so if the patrols looked out all they would see was empty space. Even heat seeking machines would show nothing more than the animals in the barns or the human bodies that were meant to be there. It was powerful magic, even for a phoenix, and Stiles only managed it because of his triad bond. 

Those gathered waited silently, keeping themselves still for fear of interrupting Stiles. One misstep and all their plans would be for not. 

Stiles nodded as he lowered himself to the ground, he would have to stay where he was to maintain the illusion. That was the signal everyone had been waiting for and they all set forward, covering the ground between the forest’s edge and the first building as quickly as they could. Thanks to Stiles they moved unseen, no traps set for them in the open field as that was where their animals roamed and they did not want to kill off their own food supply. The Argent’s had assumed the forest and their watch towers would be enough security and they slumbered unawares.

It was quick work dealing with the patrols and the watch towers. The night melodies undisturbed as the ambush happened.

The first problem the group encountered was as they hit the main house. A good number of the hunters and werewolves were already taken up with silencing and tying up those they found in the outer houses. Their numbers were already lower than they wanted, not having been able to get an accurate account of how many people were currently residing on the land. Thankfully there happened to be no people up and wandering about but they still had to enter the house unknowing of how many hunters were in residence in the main house.

Peter could feel Stiles dropping the illusion, no longer necessary now that the towers were out. He knew his mate would start making his way towards the gathered group, but Peter secretly rejoices that Stiles will be staying out of the main house. Too much is at stake, can go wrong - even now - and Peter is not willing to risk Stiles. Peter spares one last thought to Stiles, and to Chris safely back home, and gears himself up to face the worst perpetrators of the Argents.

On a silent command they break into the house, taking care to be as quiet as possible. They expect the Argents to have a few traps for unwanted visitors but it seems the Argents have grown lax, there paranoia from decades ago mellowed out. Their lenience proves to be there downfall. They find all the hunters tucked away in their beds, guns, knives, and bows are safely stowed away. 

The Argents wake to claws around their throats and guns to their heads. It takes tremendous strength for the wolves to hold themselves back, to not just let residual anger force their hands to crush the squishy necks in their grasps. 

Kate Argent proves to be the most resourceful, sleeping with a knife tucked under her pillow. She kills the hunters in her room, three of them, and manages to wedge her knife between the ribs of the werewolf just outside her door. The tip cuts the heart but the werewolf slashes Kate’s throat as she goes down, killing the hunter almost instantly. 

Kate’s movements wake a few of the other Argent’s but the hunters and werewolves manage to subdue them before anything else gets out of hand. Even Gerrard and the Lady Argent aren’t as prepared as their bloodthirsty daughter, and they’re woken up and bound within moments.

All the Argent’s get dragged outside and lined up. Now that the Argent’s have been subdued the trucks have been called in, guarded by hunters and werewolves and two shamans per truck. They are not taking any chances of the Argents rising up between here and the compound where they are to be held. 

As they wait Stiles finds Peter and wraps his arms around him. Peter is ever thankful that, barring Kate, everything went over smoothly. Now he and his mates can move on, safe in the knowledge that the Argent’s can no longer hurt them. 

Movement from the trussed up hunter in front of him draws his attention and Peter smirks when he realises it’s the lead Hunter herself, Lady Argent. She’s squirming, anger emanating from her in waves. 

“I remember you boy, you should be dead.” She snarled at him, her features morphed permanently in an ugly sneer.

“A missight on your parts, as you left me and your son alive. All your knowledge on mates and bonds and you never questioned how he survived me supposedly dying in the fire?” Peter smirked at the outrage on her face. 

“How did you manage it?” She screamed at him.

“I’m not wasting my breath telling you how we lived when all you’ve ever wanted is to see us dead.” Peter snarled this time, taking one final swing to knock her out. Gerard screamed defiance where he was tied up beside her but Peter had his satisfaction and he was leaving before he did something he would not regret, like kill the lot of them.

He grabbed Stiles on his way by, his mate’s eyes shining blue to match his red. He nodded at the head’s of the other hunter families and scented other Alpha’s as he walked by. Peter and Stiles had done their job, helped take out the Argents, and now they were free to go home to Chris - the last piece to their puzzle falling into place.

Though they’re full of broken bits, Peter knows that together they’ll make it through. Their pack may be small, made up of three, but it is all they need. Perhaps one day they’ll expand, but for now Peter is just content in relearning everything there is to know about Chris. 

He can feel happiness flowing through the bond from Stiles, and distantly a quiet peace emanating from Chris. Though it’s taken decades to finally be together, Peter could not be more thankful for his mates. For the first time they’re all whole and Peter could not honestly ask for any more. At least not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think :)
> 
> ~ M


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